


shot right through (with a bolt of blue)

by akaparalian



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Coming Out, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Roommates, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25118326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: Trunks knows it's stupid. Heknows.They've known each other since they were babies — more than that, they've been thesame fucking personmore times than he could possibly count. There's no way he should be struggling so much with this, no reason at all that this shouldn't be just as perfect as he'd always thought it would. They've shared abody; they've spent more time together than apart for the past eighteen or so years. He's pretty sure their mothers would argue that they've basically lived together for years now. There's no reason they shouldn't be fuckingperfectroommates.And yet.Or:oh my god, they were roommates,a love story.
Relationships: Trunks Briefs/Son Goten
Comments: 11
Kudos: 95





	shot right through (with a bolt of blue)

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this about a month ago, and just in the nick of time saw that [Truten Week](http://twitter.com/trutenweek) would be coming up, and had a prompt for which this would be perfect. So, here it finally is! 
> 
> Title is from [Bizarre Love Triangle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKVbB_qZQcU), which was the cornerstone of the playlist I made as I was writing this fic and which is maybe the best song about unrequited love ever written. Feel free to fight me about that in the comments.

The first time Trunks comes home and realizes there’s a stranger in the apartment is barely a week into term. It’s a Thursday, and he’s already dreading tomorrow’s 8 AM lecture — he’s more than a little suspicious that the reason he’d registered for a 10 AM class and then that class had mysteriously shifted back two hours literally the day before term started has something to do with his mother and her entirely hypocritical insistence that he learn to be a morning person and her ability to donate enough money to the university to get them to do whatever the hell she wants to their course schedule. He heads straight to the kitchen on autopilot, prodding at the coffeemaker until it obligingly starts to hum. He’s his mother’s son, after all, and there are few things more typical of the Briefs family insanity than 9 PM coffee breaks. 

He thinks longingly of the espresso machine at home, but his mother decided over the summer that she wouldn’t let him have any small appliances in the new apartment unless he built them himself, and if he’s going to build himself a nice espresso machine it’s not going to be by scrounging for parts in his mom’s scrap pile, so he’s been making do with this little percolator he cobbled together instead. Goten hasn’t complained, at least not yet, but being only a week into first-year gen ed classes means he’s not well acquainted with the coffee machine yet at all. Unfortunately, that probably just means that if he _does_ decide that the coffee machine isn’t up to snuff, it’ll be during exam season, and Trunks _really_ isn’t going to have time to build a new one during exam season, so come to think of it, maybe he should just go ahead and — 

Just as his coffee finishes brewing, the quiet of what he’d thought was an empty apartment is split by a high, feminine moan.

“ _Shit_ ,” Trunks hisses, fumbling the mug he was reaching for and almost knocking over the coffee pot. He’s kicking himself for being so easily startled at the same time as he’s kicking himself for not realizing that there was an unfamiliar ki signature in the apartment, and on top of both of those things he’s thinking, _Holy shit, Goten’s with a girl._

He forces his hands to be completely steady as he pours his coffee and _absolutely refuses_ to acknowledge that his ears are burning.

Honestly, he feels ridiculous. It’s not like he doesn’t know Goten’s been cheerfully flirting with everyone around him since more or less the instant he hit puberty. He was there for almost all of it; he and Goten have always been inseparable, so it’s not like he could have _missed_ all the girlfriends. And it’s not like this is the first time he’s had to be confronted by the reality of a roommate’s sexual escapades, either. Last year, when Goten had still been in high school and Trunks had lived in the dorms, without even the luxury of separate bedrooms to bring dates or hookups back to… well, there had been once unfortunate incident, and then there had been a _system._ Trunks has had his fair share of dorm room hookups himself; it’s not like the idea is somehow shocking. He’s not sheltered, he’s not a prude, and he’s not operating under the misconception that either he or Goten was ever planning on living a life of chastity the entire time they’re going to live together. 

And yet when there’s another moan — deeper, warmer, and infinitely more familiar — he fumbles his mug all over again, and this time he doesn’t manage to catch it before it hits the tile under his feet and shatters.

The apartment abruptly falls deadly silent. He’s scooping up the scattered pieces of porcelain when he hears Goten’s door creak open.

“Trunks?” Goten whisper-shouts into their shared living space. “Is that you?”

Did he seriously get up in the middle of — whatever he was doing to come and check on that noise? A tiny part of Trunks almost feels bad on the mystery girl’s behalf. He clears his throat. “Uh, hey, Goten,” he calls back.

“I thought you had a study group!” Goten replies. “Sorry, were we being too loud?”

There’s a giggle Trunks doesn’t recognize from somewhere in the bedroom.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, forcing a grin on the hope that it will reflect in his voice. “I just, uh, stopped by to grab a couple things. I’ll be gone in a sec.” God, is he so glad he avoided the Freudian slip there.

“‘Kay,” Goten says, and then in the instant before his door snicks shut again, Trunks almost-but-not-quite catches him saying something else, and the girl laughs again, and — 

All right, fuck the puddle of coffee on the floor. No one’s going to cut their foot on the remains of his mug, at least, and with that Trunks considers his job done. He’s out the door in seconds, only barely remembering to grab his backpack on the way out for plausible deniability. Not that he thinks Goten would notice if he said he was going to study but then left his backpack at home; clearly, he's got other things on his mind tonight. And even if he didn’t, it’s _Goten_. Observation has never been his strong suit.

After all, why else would he agree to move in with a childhood friend who’s pathetically in love with him?

—

Trunks half-expects to get a text from Goten within the hour, and then he’s definitely expecting him to mention it the following morning, and then he’s _definitely_ expecting them to talk about it when they hang out over the weekend. They spend hours dicking around with Trunks’ new game console (which, thankfully, was exempted from his mom’s mandate against store-bought electronics), thigh-to-thigh on the couch, with Goten regularly driving his elbow into Trunks’ stomach to distract him from their game and Trunks retaliating by throwing himself across Goten’s lap in an attempt to steal his controller.

So, in other words, things are _normal_ , which is good. Or, rather, at least on the surface it’s good. Trunks is going a little bit crazy over having overheard way more than he ever wanted to overhear of Goten's sex life, and that already makes him feel ridiculous, and seeing how unbothered Goten seems to be by the whole thing just makes him feel even _more_ ridiculous.

By the time Monday morning rolls around and he finds himself guiltily eyeing the slightly discolored spot where he’d dropped his coffee — in hindsight, he probably should have cleaned it up right away rather than leaving the stain to set — he realizes he’s going to have to take the initiative. Maybe he’s being paranoid, but he doesn’t want to have to worry about being sexiled without warning all year. Sure, there’s only been one incident so far, but… well. Trunks remembers what Goten’s social calendar had looked like in high school well enough; he realizes now that it was perhaps a bit naive to not automatically assume that the college version would be even more intense.

He thinks about it all day, no matter how firmly he tries to tell himself to focus on, oh, literally _anything_ else, but especially his actual _classes_. Last year had been a bit more of a drudge, because he’d had to take more than a few fundamental classes. Some of them his mom had gotten him out of — he didn’t need to take intro-level calculus, thanks, and she knew that — but some she had flatly refused to let him skip. Mostly the business classes. But this year — this year, now he’s cleared more or less all of the bullshit out of the way, he’s taking things that are actually _interesting_ , not to mention actually requiring more than the bare minimum of his attention and effort. He’s studying under some of the most famous researchers in this part of the world this semester, and he has trouble focusing on anything they’re saying all day because instead he’s obsessively thinking about what he’s going to say to Goten when he sees him later.

It’s not exactly a fun conversational topic to have to broach, but they’ve had way weirder conversations than “Hey, I really need you to tell me when you’re bringing someone back to the apartment so I don’t wander in obliviously again, the walls are kind of thin.” That’s not the problem, really. The problem is, he can see about a million ways for the conversation to go that involve him accidentally getting far closer to the truth than he intends to, and while this conversation is critical for his long-term sanity if they’re going to be living together, he’d really rather it didn’t end up resulting in him telling Goten all about his pathetic crush.

He gnaws the end of his pen briefly, squinting down at the front of the darkened lecture hall as he tries to make his way through his final class for the day and trying to convince himself that the words projected on the wall down there are just as interesting as Goten’s guileless grins and the little dimple in his cheek when he laughs. Trunks has rarely felt this pathetic, and he’s well aware that it’s not a good look on him, but he just can’t seem to fucking help it, can he?

One last trick in the book. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and takes a minute to imagine what his father would say if he could see the thoughts scrolling through Trunks’ brain right now. When he opens his eyes again, his head feels a little clearer, if only out of terror. Yep. That one always works.

After being so distracted all day, he still drags his feet all the way back home, not really wanting to have this conversation a second earlier than he has to. Goten hadn’t mentioned having any plans today, but a horrible, cowardly part of Trunks hopes that he’ll just be gone when he finally does get back to the apartment; he doesn’t want to put this off _forever_ , he knows it has to happen, but just a few more hours wouldn’t hurt, right?

But no dice. He opens the door to the sound of the TV down low, and sure enough, Goten’s curled up on the couch with a textbook propped up against his knees. 

“Hey, Trunks,” he says happily as soon as Trunks steps into the room, and just like always, Trunks finds himself completely incapable of standing up to the warm familiarity of his voice. He can’t help himself; part of him always feels slightly off-kilter whenever they’re apart, and it’s only when they see each other again that he goes back to feeling like he’s on even footing. He’s not sure how much of that to blame on a lifetime of fusion and how much to blame on their friendship and how much to blame on just being a dumb teenager with a dumb crush, but either way, walking into a room with Goten in it always feels like releasing tension he didn’t even realize he was holding on to.

“Syllabus week is over, huh?” Trunks says as he toes his shoes off, squinting at Goten’s textbook in an attempt to make out the cover. 

Goten shrugs. “I figured college probably involved _some_ actual work. But I’m gonna be honest, these textbooks are even worse than high school ones.”

“Hah,” Trunks snorts. He shoves at the back of Goten’s head playfully as he passes, becuase he can’t help himself, and then flops dramatically down on the opposite end of the couch. “Just you wait. Midterms seem far away now, but wait until October. You’ll be crying yourself to sleep just like the rest of us.”

“Well, maybe not,” Goten says. “Not all of us are planning on going straight from Literature 101 into advanced bioengineering classes.”

“Bite me,” Trunks says, and it isn’t worth bothering to even pretend to be upset, because the way Goten’s eyes crinkle up when he laughs is too good to miss.

 _Fuck_ , that’s a bridge too far even for him. Okay, no problem, time to dial it back. He takes a second to summon his Inner Vegeta again — two times in one day isn’t a great track record, but it’s fine — and then he lets silence lapse between them just long enough to be comfortable, casual, before he speaks up again.

“Oh, by the way, I wanted to talk about something if you have a minute.” There, that’s normal. At least he didn’t say _speaking of things you might or might not be biting…_ or something like that.

Inner Vegeta growls threateningly in the back of his mind.

“What’s up?” Goten says, smiling with just a hint of dimple. He doesn’t close his textbook, but he does shove it further down into his lap, focusing all of his attention on Trunks.

Trunks takes a deep breath. “So, about the other night.”

He’s actually a little surprised when Goten blushes and stiffens slightly, given how blase he’s been up to this point. "Right," Goten replies, laughing a little. "Sorry about that. I didn't know you'd be home."

"It's fine," Trunks assures him; he elects to completely ignore the way his stomach is twisting even now at the memory. "It just made me realize that we need a system. Honestly, I should have thought of it sooner."

Goten's brow wrinkles slightly. "A system?"

"Yeah, sure. For when either of us wants to bring someone home." When Goten still looks mildly baffled, Trunks laughs. "This is pretty basic college roommate stuff, dude."

"Sorry I'm not an expert already, jeeze," Goten replies, pulling a face at him. But he doesn't seem too upset; in fact, he still seems to be taking all of this remarkably calmly. "So, you want to have some sort of code word or something, so we know to clear out if one of us is bringing someone home?"

"Not a _code word_ , no, we're not 12," Trunks says, earning himself another playful little 'oh fuck off, Trunks' sort of look. "I think we can probably talk about sex without _code words._ But we should promise to let each other know somehow. Just a text would work fine, if we both make sure to remember to do it."

"So what you're saying is, message you next time so you don't come home when I'm in the middle of anything," Goten summarizes. For all his big talk about not needing to be coy or talk around the issue, Trunks finds he can only be grateful that Goten's never been especially crude. He's... not exactly sure what he would do with more detail about exactly what Goten had been in the middle of. Suddenly code words don't feel like such a bad idea.

"Right," he says, in an effort to force himself away from that train of thought. "And I'll do the same. I'm sure you don't want to be here when I bring guys home any more than I want you to."

Goten laughs, that bright, cheerful Son family laugh that Trunks would know absolutely anywhere, which somehow makes the knife twist that much deeper when he says, "Yeah, no. There are some things even we just don't need to share."

"Agreed," Trunks says, like a liar, and when he returns Goten's 'ha-ha, wouldn't that be weird' smile, he almost doesn't feel the twist of guilt low in his stomach, even though he hasn't stopped thinking about that moan he definitely hadn't been supposed to hear. Fuck, this is stupid; he doesn't even need to think about what his dad would say if he could see inside his head right now (a more horrifying thought than ever) to realize he's being completely pathetic.

"So, speaking of which," he says then, because no one in his family has ever been known for their good decisions, "how the hell did you already meet someone? You've been here a _week_ and you're already bringing girls back to the apartment?"

"I can't believe _you've_ only been back a week and you're already too busy studying to do anything else," Goten shoots back. "I mean, there were all those welcome week parties, it's not like it's _hard_ to meet people."

"I'm not a freshman, dummy, I can't go to welcome week parties," Trunks counters, laughing at the very thought. Those had been bad enough last year, when he _had_ been a freshman, and therefore naive and gullible enough to still be thinking of college as one giant party, full of pretty people he could make out with and freedom at last from his dad's training routines and his mom's increasingly insistent suggestions that he take his 'internships' at Capsule Corp more seriously " _because one day soon that stuff's really going to matter, Trunks."_

At the time, he'd also been missing Goten even more painfully than he'd anticipated, but hadn't quite been willing to admit why yet. So all of the making out with pretty people had been extra appealing, because it hadn't yet dawned on him to feel guilty about it; he hadn't started realizing yet how _wrong_ it felt to do that with someone other than his stupid, adorable best friend, who is, currently, looking at him with an earnestness that suggests he might try to drag Trunks to whatever party he's planning on attending next unless someone stops him soon.

"Oh come on, Trunks, you're _you_ ," Goten says. "No one would think you were weird for going to one of those parties as a sophomore. One, because that's not that weird anyway, and two, because you're pretty enough to get away with anything."

"Flatter me all you want, I'm still not going to your freshman parties," Trunks informs him. 

Goten seems to consider this for a moment, then finally nods with a great deal of dignity, as though he's acquiescing to something a lot more serious and solemn than whether or not Trunks will go with him to hang around with a bunch of 18-year-olds who are away from home for the first time and getting wasted on wine coolers. 

"That's fine," he says, then extends a finger almost accusingly. "But _you_ have to promise to take me to the next party _you_ go to. If you're going to act like you're too good for freshman parties, you have to at least let me see what's so much better about whatever it is you do instead."

"I don't know if you figured this out from all the study groups I've already had, but I'm not exactly doing a ton of partying right now," Trunks says dryly. But Goten, bastard that he is, just pouts at him with narrowed eyes, and after only a few seconds of that, he relents: "God, _fine_. Yes. Next party I go to, I'll bring you along. Just don't blame me if we've both graduated by the time that happens."

"You can't fool me," Goten says, kicking him from across the couch and laughing, free and warm. "I don't know why you got to college and decided you had to pretend to be boring, but I'm gonna get you to drop the act, mark my words."

"I'm not boring, just busy," Trunks retorts, shoving his feet into Goten's lap and wrinkling his nose at him, and just like that, the conversation is well and truly behind them and they're back to normal, both laughing and shoving each other around until they end up both rolling off the couch and onto the floor. It's not quite the same as they way they used to roughhouse out behind Goten's house on Mount Paozu or on the emerald lawns at Capsule Corp, and it's not quite the same as the way they'd spar and wrestle as teenagers, but it's something that Trunks thinks has to be just as good, just newer. 

He lets that thought, warm and content, carry him through the rest of the night and onward, and tells himself that it shouldn't be much of an issue now. Sure, it's not going to be fun to get those texts from time to time — he's sure they'll twist in his gut, but it's still better than the alternative. He would have gladly gone the rest of his life without the actual first-hand experience of hearing Goten having sex, seeing as he's well aware that he's not exactly going to be able to put that knowledge to good use, but if he has to know, at least he hopefully doesn't have to endure a repeat performance.

It will be fine, he tells himself — decides, really. It will be fine, because it has to be. Because living with Goten, sharing space with him the way they used to share a body... It feels _right_ , feels like it fits, just like he'd always thought it would. And he's not going to let anything fuck it up.

—

The sailing is relatively smooth after that, for the next few weeks, at least. Looking back later, with the benefit of hindsight, Trunks may think that he should have been able to tell that that wouldn't last long, given... oh, everything else about his life, more or less, but in the moment, it's all too easy to convince himself that he's sorted things out. As the weeks go by, it's easier and easier to throw himself into his work, into coordinating projects and study groups and working to win over all of his professors until they've figured out that they should keep an eye on him because he's got his mother's brain and not because he's got her good looks and surname. 

Keeping himself busy means that he doesn't tend to run into Goten during the day, and when they do spend time together during the evenings and on weekends, he's fully focused on just cutting back and relaxing. It's way easier not to think about things he _definitely should not be thinking about_ when he's so exhausted and strung out that all he is capable of doing is watching shitty movies and playing video games and talking about nothing. Goten is so, so good at talking about nothing — or maybe it's more that they're good at talking about nothing _together_. They can talk for hours about absolutely anything; it's kind of a problem, really, because whenever Trunks tries to do this kind of thing with other people, all he ever ends up feeling is how much he wishes he were talking to Goten instead, how he just _gets_ it. (That's, maybe, more pathetic than not being able to stop thinking about the... other stuff, actually.)

Regardless: he throws himself into work to avoid spending too much of his brain space on anything else. He kind of hates that he can't even figure out which one of his parents to blame that tendency on, but either way, it works. Midterms are slowly but steadily looming closer, so as the weeks go by, Goten starts to find himself with more and more to do, too, which only ups the mindlessness factor of their easy, uncomplicated hangouts.

Trunks gets a text on a Saturday night that just says, _Hey, are u home? Because maybe don't be._ He takes about thirty seconds to sigh explosively up at the ceiling of his bedroom, torn between an almost-numbness, an uncomfortable twist of jealousy, and honest frustration at himself for having let it take him by surprise to this degree. Then, with a completely reasonable and defensible and non-ridiculous amount of huffing and flair, he gathers up his shit and gets the hell out of Dodge.

Going to the library while his roommate gets some when he didn't _already_ have plans to do so — and when he's not panicking, and has the mental capacity to actually figure something else out rather than just taking the first out his brain hands him — feels pointedly lame somehow, so he dicks around a little bit before deciding on the coffee shop across the street from the apartment. Thankfully, they don't close until 10, even though Trunks is practically the only one in there; it's just him and a couple of especially frazzled-looking grad students who look prepared to shut themselves in their booth until close. He gets a double shot, which gets him, in turn, a look of knowing concern from the girl behind the counter, and then he settles down at a table with a view out the front window at the street.

It's not so he can try to get a glimpse of Goten and whoever he's with. It's _not_. If that happens, it happens, but Trunks is going to be focusing on making sure he's capable of following whatever the hell they're going to be doing in his biomechanics lab on Tuesday. He doesn't have the time to do things like obsessively look out the window every few seconds, scanning the street for that familiar smile, the silhouette he'd recognize anywhere. Really, seriously, he doesn't have the time.

So, obviously, his gaze drawn up at the exact right moment, almost magnetized, he sees Goten with some — with a _guy._

"Oh my god," he says out loud, a little too loudly for his current surroundings. The grad students don't seem to notice at all; the barista looks like she couldn't really get much more concerned for his mental state if she tried, at this point.

He reflexively finds himself doing mental math, at first, trying to make sure he hasn't just... miscalculated. Missed something, at some point, when he wasn't quite paying enough attention. But he really doesn't think that's it; there's no point in their past 18 years of friendship where Trunks can remember Goten signalling in any way that he was anything less than flagrantly heterosexual. Not when Trunks came out to him when he was 14; not when he helped coach Trunks through coming out to his parents when he was 15; not at any point in the years since, when Goten had been successfully flirting his way through their entire social circle and Trunks had been bemoaning the fact that his options were significantly more limited.

Not that it's an issue. It's obviously not an _issue_. It's just... unexpected. And he's really starting to think he could go without having any more unexpected encounters with Goten's love life for a while.

Oh, this was a mistake. Not that he hadn't already known that, hence the way he'd been trying to maintain denial that it was a mistake he was actively making, but setting himself up to catch a glimpse like this was such an astronomically bad idea that he's honestly a little shocked at himself, now that he stops to really think about it rather than just going along with it. Sure, he's always been his father's son when it comes to bad ideas, but god _damn_.

They've just gotten out of a car — Goten doesn't own a car, obviously, so it must be his... date's. He's not anyone Trunks knows or recognizes; the fact that he's a stranger is a small mercy, at least. He's tall, a little taller than Goten, with tan skin and dark hair that curls around his ears. He's in shape by normal person standards, though decidedly shrimpy by Saiyan standards, not that that's much of a surprise. To put it plainly: he's hot. Trunks would absolutely flirt back if a guy like that hit on him, and if he were feeling motivated, he'd just as gladly do the flirting himself. He wonders, unbidden, if Goten was feeling motivated.

Regardless, Goten has good taste, especially given that he's pretty new to having taste in men at all, at least as far as Trunks is aware.

As he watches, the guy locks his car and sidles up behind Goten, leaning in close to murmur in his ear. Goten laughs at whatever it is he said, eyes sparkling, and then the two of them are gone, disappearing inside the building faster than Trunks can really parse, given that his brain is currently leaking out of his ears.

There's really just so much about this situation to despair at that he doesn't even know where to start. For one thing, he's a fucking idiot, and apparently a masochist, and he's utterly pissed at the Trunks of five minutes ago for setting him up to see that at all. Not to trivialize the sacrifice of his alternate reality future self and the horrors of his existence or whatever, but if given the opportunity right now, he would absolutely jump in a time machine and smack himself if he thought it would help, because this is basically the worst thing he's ever done to himself, ever. _Ever._

On an entirely different level, he's slowly realizing that he's... going to have to actively pretend that he hasn't seen this, which wouldn't be the case if he'd seen Goten with some girl, because he's going to have to wait for Goten to come out to him when he's ready. Assuming he comes out at all, assuming this isn't experimentation or some one-time thing, but... well. Just from the brief look he'd gotten at Goten's expression just now, at the way he'd leaned into the other guy's space and looked up at him from under his lashes — and Trunks is actively dying just remembering it — he doesn't think that's the case. That wasn't the demeanor of a straight boy just trying something out for fun, and Goten's not that kind of guy regardless. He's a bit of a flirt, but he's not an asshole; he's heard enough of Trunks' rants about straight boys over the years that Trunks really, really doubts he'd lead someone on like that. 

Which leaves the conclusion that he's genuinely interested, which leaves the conclusion that he's — bisexual, or something. Trunks is going to avoid applying labels without any additional knowledge for the time being, in part for his own sanity. And those things, in turn, leave the conclusion that Trunks isn't going to push him out of the closet before he's ready, which means he... well, he probably wasn't going to just chat Goten up about catching a glimpse of him pre-hookup regardless, but it feels worse now, somehow, like it's a genuine secret and not just something that would be a little awkward if they talked about it.

So, in conclusion: he's well and truly fucked himself over, in ways he didn't even think were possible, and now he's going to be stuck wallowing in that feeling for an indeterminate amount of time. He buries his head in his arms with a groan, nearly knocking over what remains of his coffee in the process, and thoroughly dislodging his notes. 

The thoughts creep in without permission or intent, and no matter what he does, he can't seem to push them aside: Goten and his mystery man have got to be upstairs in the apartment by now, alone in the darkness of the space that's supposed to belong to _Goten and Trunks_ , not Goten and some stranger. It's all too easy to picture Goten with that half-lidded expression on his face again, biting his lip softly, leaning up to be kissed. It's much harder to stop himself from replacing the faceless guy he'd barely got a glimpse of with... well.

Okay, so it's not like he's never fantasized about Goten before in moments of weakness, but it feels vaguely gross every time, and usually it's dreams, or idle thoughts, things he's barely in control of. This feels different, way more invasive, and the guilt settles into his stomach immediately, cold and oily. It doesn’t actually do a ton to stop the insistent, intrusive thoughts, though: Goten pressed up against a wall, eyes shut, sighing; Goten tumbling into bed, reaching up with his eyes shining; Goten, Goten, Goten, his eyelashes fluttering, a blush high on his cheeks, a grin splitting his face...

Obviously, having all too recently caught him in the act — sort of, at least — doesn’t help, but, well. It’s not like he hadn’t already known what Goten looks and sounds like when he’s turned on, even before that — there’s a _reason_ they stopped fusing there for a while as teenagers, and there’s a mostly-buried memory of one time they did and Gotenks got up to a couple things that they have _never fucking talked about_ and _never fucking will_. Trunks has got plenty of fucking spank bank material, is the point, even without the events of a few weeks ago, but that sure didn’t help, and neither has seeing him with a guy, clearly, and — 

“I have to get out of here,” Trunks mumbles, only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s talking to himself. He’ll just have to hope this same barista isn’t working the next time he comes in here, though honestly, she’s probably seen weirder anyway. He starts shoving his stuff into his backpack without really looking at what he’s doing. Papers are going everywhere, and he very nearly rips a page out of his textbook in his haste and frustration, but he hardly even notices; he’s out the door in barely sixty seconds flat, the chime of the bell over the entrance tinny and way too cheerful for the way he storms toward the street.

—

Goten texts him again three hours later. _Coast is clear,_ he says, with a thumbs-up emoji. Trunks forces himself to wait ten minutes after that before he starts to head back, both so that it will be less obvious that he was waiting by the phone and to decrease the odds that he runs into the mystery guy hanging around outside of the apartment or something. 

He's not sure what he would do if he _were_ to run into him. Probably nothing — what _could_ he do, fight him about it? Fight some regular human guy for doing absolutely nothing wrong, just because Trunks can't keep a handle on his stupid jealousy? He's not _that_ far gone. He knows it would fucking suck, though, to see him. It would burn like ice pressed to the skin, like the sick bubble of stomach acid that's threatening to choke him even now. It would _suck_ , so Trunks lingers, drags his feet — thinking about it is bad enough, but seeing it would be so much worse. 

There's no one on the street when he gets back to the apartment, and there's no one in the stairway when he trudges up to the second floor. There's noise coming from behind some of the doors he passes, because: weekend, student housing, people seeking stress relief from the looming shadow of their upcoming exams. But when he gets to his and Goten's door, it's quiet and dark inside, and he feels tension drain out of his shoulders at the sight.

He opens the door quietly and all but sneaks to his room; Goten's probably asleep already anyway, but he doesn't really want to risk actually having to talk right now.

He's just shut the door behind himself and set his bag down with a sigh of relief when a rap on the door behind him makes him jump and yelp, "Shit!"

"Didn't mean to scare you," Goten says, at a normal volume, from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

 _Goddammit, this might as well happen,_ Trunks thinks. Out loud, he says, "Yeah, 'course."

Goten cracks the door open just a bit, peering through the narrow opening with an expression on his face that's shocking in how unreadable it is. He stares at Trunks like that for a long moment, eyes tracking searchingly over his face; then, abruptly, he smiles, and pushes the door open the rest of the way to come into the room.

"So," he says, flopping down on Trunks' bed. "I think I just figured something out."

Trunks' stomach does an odd twist. "At—" he glances at his phone— "one in the morning?"

"Well, yeah," Goten says, sticking his tongue out at him briefly. "I just figured it out because of..." He gestures in the direction of his own bedroom. "You know."

"I really don't, Goten," Trunks says, very much wishing he were having this conversation... tomorrow, maybe. When he'd at least had a chance to sleep. Not _never_ , but... god, not right _now,_ either.

"Trunks," Goten half-whispers, grinning almost conspiratorially. "I sexiled you for a dude."

After a beat, when Trunks hasn't responded, he adds, as though the clarification is necessary, "I figured out that I'm pretty bi."

"Pretty—" Trunks splutters. "Fuck, Goten, just like that?"

Goten shrugs, which looks kind of odd, given that he's still more or less reclining in Trunks' bed. "I've kind of thought so for a while," he explains. "But tonight I made sure. So now I'm sure. So I figured it out."

Trunks… doesn’t even know what to make of that, really. He obviously understands the idea well enough — he’s been there himself, after all — but there’s something about projecting his memories of coming to terms with his sexuality onto Goten that makes him feel like he’s having an out of body experience. Goten's still looking at him expectantly, though, clearly not yet satisfied with his reaction, so he tries not to let it explode his brain _too_ much.

"Congratulations?" Trunks tries at length, not exactly sure what he's looking for. "I mean, obviously, I'm happy for you, I'm glad that we can talk about boys now, I'm... here for you? Jeeze, dude, stop looking at me like that."

"Sorry, it's just, you look like your brain is imploding on itself," Goten tells him, grinning. "It's kind of hilarious. Did I look like that when you came out to me?"

"No." _Because you hadn't been telling yourself for years that I was unavailable because I was straight, probably._ "But maybe you would have if I had sprung it on you at _one A.M.,_ after telling you to clear out so I could have a hookup in our apartment."

"You told me to tell you!"

"And I stand by that," Trunks agrees firmly. "Please, for the love of all that is good in this world, _please_ give me fair warning. But, like — maybe we could have had this conversation tomorrow?"

He's half-begging by the end, and Goten laughs in his face. He doesn't seem upset, at least, so it's safe to say he understands that Trunks really does wish him well, really is happy for him in his moment of self-discovery — because he does, and he is — but he's exhausted and needs to sleep. Thankfully, Goten _doesn't_ seem to perceive any more than that, doesn't seem to have parsed that the other 50% or so of the reason Trunks is so frazzled by this conversation is that he can't stop himself from wondering exactly what Goten did in pursuit of his conclusion that he really does like dudes, and how he looked while doing it, and if this means he's even a fraction of a percent more likely to let Trunks do it to him someday. Or let Trunks, like, take him out for coffee, or hold his hand, but like a boyfriend, not like when he was dragging them both into trouble when they were kids, or—

"Bedtime," Trunks says firmly, his voice just slightly shrill with hysteria. Goten just keeps laughing, so presumably that, too, flies under the radar. "Seriously, I got like four hours of sleep last week, total, so can we continue our heart to heart in the morning?"

"In the morning," Goten promises, shimmying off the bed and heading for the door with little more than a light, affectionate punch in the shoulder as he brushes past Trunks. "Night, man."

"Goodnight," Trunks echoes. Then, once the door has _snicked_ shut again behind Goten, he throws himself face forward onto the bed and screams quietly into his pillow.

How he's going to get to sleep after that, he has no idea.

—

“I'm bi," Goten tells him in the morning, matter-of-fact. He's got a mug of something in front of him that smells _way_ too sweet to be coffee, and he's eating a plain, dry toaster waffle.

Trunks got about three hours of sleep last night. He stares back blearily.

"In case you forgot," Goten adds helpfully, taking a bite of waffle. Then he slides a second mug across the table, one that Trunks completely hadn't noticed until the exact moment that Goten gestures it towards him, clearly indicating that he should take it.

"In case I _forgot?"_ Trunks echoes, but he takes the coffee and sits down.

"I don't know, weirder things have happened," Goten says with a shrug. He's eyeing Trunks across the table a little cautiously, and it's not until Trunks has had a long drink of coffee and blinked stupidly at him for a minute that he realizes why.

"Uh," he says slowly. "Congratulations on coming out? I guess? To me, anyway. You planning to tell anyone else soon, or...? Not that you have to," he adds hastily. 

Goten seems to relax with every word that comes out of his mouth. By the time Trunks has stopped word-vomiting at him, he's even smiling his normal, bright Goten smile. 

"I don't figure there's any rush," he says, chewing happily on his waffle. "I mean, they'll find out when they find out, you know?"

"Yeah," Trunks says, trying to pretend it doesn't make him feel a little warm inside that _he_ had been, apparently, the only person who Goten feels an active need to tell. It’s not like the two of them to keep things from one another, after all. 

_That_ thought just makes him feel guilty, but he ignores it in favor of getting up to make himself a waffle. 

“So,” he says, firmly ignoring that feeling and focusing on getting himself breakfast instead. “Other than that, any more life-shaking realizations I should know about?”

“Not yet, but I’ll let you know,” Goten jokes, and Trunks hides his expression in the open freezer door.

—

Goten texts him on a Friday afternoon: _Got a date later, this is ur warning_.

Goten texts him on a Saturday night, when Trunks is bent over his desk bashing his brain against fluid dynamics: _Can I have the apartment later?_ (Trunks tells him yes, obviously, and doesn't even dwell on the way it turns his stomach to do so.)

Goten grabs him when he's on his way out the door on a Wednesday morning: "Hey, uh... mind if I bring someone back here later?" 

"Uh — sure," Trunks says. "I'm gonna be out pretty late anyway. Group project due tomorrow." 

He doesn't say _it's the middle of the week_ , or _finals aren't that far away, you know,_ or _don't you ever study_ — if nothing else than because he knows Goten _does_ , just, it's not really quite as necessary to spend every spare second hitting the books when you're taking, like, normal college freshman classes, and not trying to cram a good chunk of your upper level engineering credits into your sophomore year like a _dumbass._ He also, critically, essentially, doesn't say, _isn't that the second time this week?,_ because for one thing, he already knows the answer to that, and for another thing, he wishes he didn't.

He just smiles, not quite able to force it to be anything but a tight and withdrawn little grimace, and makes his way out the door. 

Trunks knows it's stupid. He _knows_. They've known each other since they were babies — more than that, they've been _the same fucking person_ more times than he could possibly count. There's no way he should be struggling so much with this, no reason at all that this shouldn't be just as perfect as he'd always thought it would. They've shared a _body_ ; they've spent more time together than apart for the past eighteen or so years. He's pretty sure their mothers would argue that they've basically lived together for years now. There's no reason they shouldn't be fucking _perfect_ roommates, and there’s no reason that that shouldn’t include him being able to handle it when Goten wants to bring a date home with him, which is a perfectly normal, reasonable thing for him to do.

And yet.

—

Finals really are creeping closer, and so Trunks spends less and less time at home as the weeks go by, and he's getting less and less sleep, because he's doing more and more studying and spending more and more of his overall mental capacity on exams, projects, lab write-ups, and programming exercises, and less and less on... well, anything else, including what most mere mortals would consider "basic human functions." He eats, mostly. He's definitely drinking a lot of liquids, but they're almost all coffee, so he's not really all that sure that it counts.

Most of the time, he's not really encountering that many consequences. If some big bad came down from space right now and Trunks was all that stood between the world and annihilation, they'd probably be screwed, but that's what his dad and Goku and everyone are for, he figures. Sure, he may have run directly into a light pole the other day because he zoned out while walking to class, but no one he knows had been around to see him, so it's almost like it didn't even happen. If that's the worst consequence he's going to run into for stretching himself this thin for this long, he thinks as he walks down the hall toward the apartment on an unassuming Thursday two weeks before the start of final exam season, he'll take that and count himself lucky.

He opens the door to the sound of an unfamiliar feminine giggle, realizes instantly that he's just jinxed himself seven ways to Sunday, and honestly considers screaming for a solid, terrifying second before shutting the door behind himself perhaps a little louder than usual.

This isn't quite as bad as the first time he'd walked in on Goten with a date, he realizes. For one thing, everyone is fully clothed, and no one is actively doing anything that's going to make conversation awkward. Trunks knows these things because Goten and the girl are both in the living room, and they're both _looking at him_ , because of course they are. 

And — even better — while they're not exactly _en flagrante delicto_ , they're not just casually hanging out in the living room; the girl is sitting on the couch, putting her shoes on (or taking them off?), and Goten is sitting right next to her, kind of leaning over her a little, their thighs brushing.

She's pretty, Trunks thinks, because of course she is. Goten only ever seems to hook up with people who are at least as good-looking as he is. Her hair is dark and curly, and her skin is smooth and warmly tanned, and — okay, he's going to drive himself crazy if he keeps blindly following this train of thought. He swallows hard and forces himself to unfreeze, waving briefly.

"Uh. Hey," he says. "Sorry, Goten, I didn't realize..."

Except, he realizes, he did, _dammit_ — Goten texted him earlier, didn't he? And he'd forgotten all about it, because he'd been too busy zombie-shuffling his way back across campus the instant he possibly could to stop and think about any reasons why he _shouldn't_ high-tail it straight to the warm embrace of his bed. 

"It's cool," Goten says easily. Trunks notices without meaning to the way he very definitely does not lean away from the girl at all, and hates himself for noticing it. "Ivy, this is my roommate, Trunks."

Ivy glances up at him and smiles. "Hi," she says, then she angles herself fully toward Goten, a clear dismissal. "So, I'll call you?"

"Early and often, please," Goten says; he smiles, wide and warm, right where Trunks can see, and as Ivy finishes putting on her shoes, he reaches out to gently take hold of her hand, easily linking their fingers together. He's a bit goofy, a bit cheesy, but it works for him — he _makes_ it work for him.

It is absolutely agonizing to watch, and before he even realizes what he's doing, Trunks is stumbling toward his bedroom. He hears Ivy giggle behind him, and sees red; he has to take a second once he makes it back to his room to just lean against the door and breathe harshly. When he's recovered, he lowers himself down into his desk chair, but he doesn't actually get out any work. It's all he can do to occupy himself with the patterns in the wood grain in order to help distract himself from the low murmur of voices in the other room.

Eventually, he hears the front door open, then shut, then open and shut again a few minutes later. Ivy's gone, then, if he had to guess; Goten walked her out of the building, like the gentleman his mother raised him to be, though Chi-Chi's image of her well-behaved little boy probably doesn't include all the one-night stands.

That's not exactly a charitable thought — it's pretty dickish, actually — and Trunks rebukes himself, feeling guilty enough about it to even overpower how tired and jealous and irrationally pissed off he is. Goten having lots of hookups doesn't make him any less of a nice guy, obviously. It just seems to be making Trunks less and less of a nice guy, given that he can't fucking seem to deal with it in anything approaching a normal, healthy way.

There's a light tap at the door. Trunks startles, then grunts, not taking his eyes off his desk.

"Hey," Goten says, cracking the door open just a bit. "Sorry, I thought I texted you."

"You did," Trunks says shortly. "I forgot."

When there's no response, he eventually gives in to the greedy, searching feeling in his stomach and looks up. Goten is staring at him, clearly a little baffled by the terseness of the response, his mouth hanging open just slightly. He seems to be taking in the rest of the scene, too: Trunks sitting at an empty desk, doing essentially nothing, and in the gathering dark, too, since he hadn't bothered to turn on a light when he came in and the sun's going down outside the window. As Trunks watches, he makes a few abortive attempts at replying, before finally settling on, "Are you okay, Trunks?"

"I'm fine." But that comes out clipped and harsh, too, and Trunks pauses a moment, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. When he opens his eyes again, he forces himself to soften as he says, "I'm sorry, Goten, I'm just — you know, finals coming up. Busy as hell. I think I'm going a little crazy."

"I get that," Goten says slowly, his eyebrows knitting together. "You want to spar or something? Let off some steam? We could just play some games, too, even though our dads won't be quite as proud of us. You seem like you could use some R&R."

"Thanks, but I think I'm just gonna try to call it an early night," Trunks replies, the guilt in his stomach growing heavier with the way the words make Goten's shoulders visibly slump. "Rain check, okay? I'm gonna need to let off a whole metric fuckton of steam after this semester's over."

"An entire metric fuckton, huh?" Goten banters back gently. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes, which are still consumed with a swirl of emotions that make Trunks' lungs constrict: hurt, confusion, concern. "I can probably help with that."

"I'll be counting on you," Trunks says, a little more seriously than he means to.

This time, when Goten smiles, there's something a little hopeful in it, and that's almost worse than before. It sure makes Trunks feel like even more of a piece of shit, anyway. "Sure thing, Trunks. I'll let you get some sleep. See you later."

"Later," Trunks echoes, too late — by the time he gets it out, Goten's already gone. 

—

When Trunks asks "How's Ivy?", a week later, and Goten actually looks confused for a split second before saying, "Oh — haven't seen her in a while," he manages to mostly convince even himself that the rush in his stomach isn't triumph. She'd seemed nice enough — Goten could definitely stand to do a lot worse. Probably. He guesses he's not really all that qualified to make judgements on that kind of thing, given the inherent conflict of interest.

"Oh," he replies, and then when he can't come up with anything more intelligent or constructive than that — _that's too bad_ rings way too false, and he's sure that if he tries to pass it off as genuine, Goten will be able to tell — he elects to move on to the actual reason he'd started this conversation. "Hey, so, remember like, three months ago, where you made me promise to take you to the next party I got invited to?"

They're in the kitchen, and Trunks is nominally making dinner (it always feels like a bit of a stretch to him to call what he does "cooking," given that it doesn't exactly take a ton of effort or skill to put frozen food in the oven and wait for the laws of thermodynamics to run their course), which is an excellent excuse to focus on the oven and not look up at the excited little noise Goten makes.

" _Hell_ yes I do," Goten exclaims, and it turns out to be a little harder to ignore him when he fists his hand in the back of Trunks' hoodie and tugs. "I thought _you_ forgot. I can't believe it actually took you all semester to get invited to a party, Trunks, what the hell? I'm gonna tell your mom, and she's gonna _judge you_."

"It didn't, actually," Trunks admits, grinning despite himself and raising his hands in surrender. "This is just the first one I have any intention of actually going to."

Goten raises an eyebrow. "You avoid going to parties all semester and then finally decide to cut loose right before finals?" He pauses a moment for emphasis. " _You?"_

"The party's not till _after,_ genius." Trunks finds himself grinning and laughing in earnest now; Goten's sunshiney personality has always been infectious, and all the more so when he's just established that he's not actually seeing the girl Trunks has been jealously obsessing over for the past week, the latest in a long, long line of previous objects of his envy. "I just thought I'd go ahead and let you know, in case you were planning to clear out early once you finished your exams. Didn't want you to miss your chance to see how upperclassmen lose their minds after finals."

"I wasn't gonna head out until you did anyway, so no worries," Goten says with a quick, dismissive flap of his hand. Trunks feels a ridiculous little warm swoop in his stomach at that, which he elects to squash down ruthlessly. "Mom didn't even complain when I told her. Although I _did_ sort of imply it was for academic reasons, so..."

"Devious," Trunks says approvingly. "All right, well. Friday night, after exams are over. Gird your loins, or whatever."

And that's that. Or, at least, he tells himself that that's that, and then allows himself to be swept along in the inexorable crush of preparing for finals, which does a pretty handy job of distracting him from anything and everything else, including his somewhat questionable decision to bring Goten to a party.

Trunks muddles through his exams and final projects all right, by his standards — meaning, of course, that he ends the semester by acing tests, scaring assigned partners and groupmates into submission, and occasionally even remembering to eat, sleep, and perform other basic bodily tasks. As far as he knows, Goten's doing well, too, but they don't really talk about it in much detail. They don't talk about much of anything during finals week, actually, because they don't do a whole lot of talking; they barely see each other, their normal schedules thrown completely out the window by exams and last-minute study sessions, and when they do happen to both be in the apartment at the same time, one or both of them is usually sleeping.

Surfacing on the other side of exam week feels like coming up for air after being held underwater for several hours. Trunks actually finishes his exams Thursday afternoon, with nothing scheduled on Friday due to a stroke of good fortune, and spends about 24 hours in a nearly catatonic state, sprawled horizontal and unmoving on his bed, becoming reacquainted with the sensation of rest. He only barely manages to rouse himself the following day in time to remember that he's supposed to be somewhere that evening, fling himself into the shower to wash away the lingering smell of the library and the overpriced coffee from the cafe in the campus bookstore, get dressed, and then make his way across the apartment to Goten's room. 

"Oh good, you're alive," Goten says in response to Trunks' knock on his half-open door. "Thought I was gonna have to go in on a rescue mission, or maybe just ask your mom if I could borrow the Dragon Radar."

"Yeah, well, it was a near thing," Trunks says, leaning against the doorframe in the most casual way he can manage, giving Goten a once-over. He's clearly put a little more effort into getting prepared to head out than Trunks' own half-assed attempt; his hair's spiked up a little extra, with product in it, and he's wearing a deceptively simple black t-shirt that looks like it was practically airbrushed onto him. He looks good — really good — without crossing over the line into "trying too hard." Trunks swallows. "You, uh, ready to go?"

"Ready whenever you are," Goten confirms with a dimpled smile, and suddenly, getting them both out of the apartment as fast as possible seems like an act of self-defense.

The girl who's throwing this stupid party isn't someone Trunks knows directly, but he was on a group project with her roommate this semester, so he ended up getting looped in that way. Unlike him, his classmate, their host, and most of the other people crowding into the slightly underwhelming townhouse that's their destination for the night are _actually_ upperclassmen — some of them graduate students, as well. Trunks spent most of this semester as by far the youngest person in most all of his classes, and it's showing now, as he realizes that he's the youngest person here, too, except for Goten.

The party's not exactly a rager — at least not yet; the night's admittedly still pretty young — but there is a heavy bass throbbing out into the cool night air, and the hum and buzz of people celebrating having survived another semester and their impending month or so of freedom. They're not even in the door before Trunks has glanced over at Goten and realized that he is _completely_ in his element here. Trunks, as the son of Bulma Briefs and presumptive heir to her tendency to throw elaborate parties for any and every occasion, should be the one comfortable here, while Goten, raised in the literal ass-crack of nowhere, should be a fish out of water, but he's had a good few years now to get used to the idea that they fucked _that_ dichotomy up somewhere along the line. Goten looks like he's actively drawing in energy from the people around them as they make their way through the door and wind through crowd thronging in the entryway and living room, and Trunks... well, Trunks kind of already wants to go home.

Still, while the crowd of mostly-strangers around him isn't exactly hyping him up, Goten's excitement and enthusiasm is contagious. The music is coming from an overtaxed Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen counter, and Goten's nodding his head along ever-so-slightly; he doesn't have the world's greatest sense of rhythm, so he's a tiny bit off from the beat, but that makes it so much more fucking adorable that Trunks can practically feel his chest cave in at the sight, because he is, as he has known for quite some time now, so far gone that it isn't even funny.

They sort of naturally drift to a stop in the living room. Trunks casts a surveying eye over the room, trying to look for anyone he knows; there are plenty of familiar faces, a few people who nod or smile at him when he meets their eyes, but no one who he feels especially compelled to run up to and start a conversation with right now. Goten is also looking around the room, his expression a little bemused.

"So these are, like, people you know from class, mostly?" he asks. 

Trunks shrugs. "Mostly."

Suddenly, something just behind Goten catches his attention, and there's an uncomfortable swoop in Trunks' stomach as he slides sideways from looking to Goten straight into making eye contact with someone _else_ who's looking at Goten. A girl he vaguely recognizes from his fluid dynamics lecture is sipping something out of a plastic cup and giving Goten a distinctly appraising up-and-down look from behind, and _Trunks_ is somehow the one who has to witness it. He feels his guts clench.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get a drink," he blurts. "C'mon, come with me. Maybe we'll find Sophie and I can introduce you."

"That's the girl who invited you?" Goten asks, following after him easily enough. The girl who'd been looking at Goten disappears into the crowd before she has a chance to get any farther than looking on speculatively, and Trunks relaxes slightly as they step into the kitchen.

He nods a little absently in response to Goten's question. "I think technically this is her roommate's party, but she lives here too, so..."

"Close enough," Goten agrees with a laugh, shrugging. When Trunks digs through the ice chest sitting open on the kitchen floor and grabs blindly, handing him the first bottle he finds, he accepts it without complaint. 

He turns back to the ice chest to grab himself something, too, but then by the time he straightens up again, there's a guy making his way across the room toward them, his stance casual but his eyes pinned on Goten.

Before he has a chance to stop and think about the fact that he's acting like a bit of a crazy asshole, Trunks grabs Goten by the wrist and tows him out of the room.

"What—?" Goten says, clearly baffled. He glances over his shoulder as Trunks leads him through the crowd, briefly making eye contact with the guy who'd been trying to come over to them.

"I need some fresh air," Trunks says shortly, as he pushes out onto the back porch and into the tiny little yard. They're not the only ones out here, but it's a _lot_ less crowded than it was inside the house, which is good enough for now. Trunks feels himself relax a little as the back door swings shut behind them, muffling the sounds of music and people at least a little. There's a nice breeze, too, that cools the sweat he hadn't even realized was gathering at the back of his neck; he feels his jaw unclench, and he turns to Goten and smiles slightly, apologetic.

"You're being mega weird," Goten informs him, but he doesn't look _too_ put out about it. There's something a little concerned in his expression, a furrow in his brow and a little flicker of worry in his eyes, but it smooths out as he adds, "I think maybe now I get why you don't go to a lot of parties. I swear you weren't like this in high school."

"College changes a man," Trunks jokes, playing up the world-weary angle, because it's way easier than trying to explain he's, theoretically, not _nearly_ this weird when he's at parties _alone_. This is a special, Goten-flavored breed of weirdness.

It's early December, so eventually that refreshing night breeze starts to feel a little more insistent, but Trunks finds himself hardly noticing. They end up sitting on the back porch, three worn, cracked concrete steps down into a yard that's more weeds than anything else, each of them nursing their one beer for way, way longer than what's really reasonable. There's another little gaggle of people settled on the grass a little further out, leaning up against the back fence with smoke curling up and away from them, but other than that, they're more or less alone out here. It's nice, actually, to have the party at their backs, the option of it available to them any time they'd like to turn and go back inside, but it's even nicer to be out here in the meantime, with at least the illusion of the idea that it's just the two of them.

Shit, if he doesn't think about it for too long, Trunks can almost pretend this is any one of his mom's many, many parties, and the people shouting over the music inside the house are his parents' friends, and he and Goten have snuck off to cause trouble while the grown-ups drink and catch up, the way they always used to. 

They talk quietly, and not about anything important, not that Trunks even knows what they could talk about right now that _is_ important. For the time being, they're both pretty much as free of responsibility as they've ever been in their entire lives, and while he's not looking forward to the grueling workouts his dad is going to put him through when he gets back to Capsule Corp — and there will be no point trying to get out of it by saying he _totally_ kept up his workout routine this semester, because Vegeta somehow _always_ knows when he's lying about anything having to do with fighting — in this moment, at least, Trunks doesn't have to think about that, or about the classes he's taking next semester, or about anything but the warm, familiar press of Goten's body against his side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.

He shivers, and not because the wind just got that much colder. If Goten notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Hey," Goten says eventually, shooting him a lopsided little grin, "if you're going to monopolize me all night and not even introduce me to anyone, can you at least go get me another drink?", and Trunks goes without thinking, his mind fogged over from that smile way more than from the now-empty beer he's still clutching too tightly in his fist.

The wall of sound when he opens the door is immediate, and he steps forward into the house only reluctantly, glancing back at Goten over his shoulder as he does so. As soon as the door closes between them and he starts to make his way to the kitchen, though... well, he realizes after a second that he's actually a little relieved. It's good to have a moment to clear his head, almost. He'd never _normally_ consider being surrounded by a bunch of people he, at best, barely knows, who are by this point starting to really get into the drinking-and-smoking-and-hooking-up part of the evening. Coming back inside to the party like this is a lot; even just walking from the back door to the kitchen to get drinks, it feels like it's pressing him down on all sides.

But strangely, it feels like it's actually clearing his head a little bit. He feels more or less anonymous in the crowd — he's sure that there are plenty of people here who vaguely recognize him in the way he vaguely recognizes them, and sure, somewhere in the crowd is his friend Sophie, who is, in theory, the entire reason he's actually here, as well as a few other people he _actually_ knows, but for the most part, it doesn't feel like anybody is looking at him or noticing him in particular. And it certainly doesn't feel like they _know_ him, and that... it helps him shake off that special Goten-induced haziness that's so fucking easy for him to fall into these days, the way he can't think straight when they're sitting next to each other like that. Which is pathetic, probably, or at the very least it's embarrassing, but it is what it is, at this point. It's not like he's been able to do anything about it up till this point, and he doesn't have a whole lot of hope that he's going to start now. So being able to get a little space and clear his head when he needs it is probably the best he's going to be able to do, honestly.

He actually puts a little effort into grabbing something this time that he knows Goten will like, and grabs several of them, so he won't have to come back in here too soon unless he wants to. He weaves his way back out to the back door with his arms full of bottles, and nudges the door open with his hip, already looking down to where he'd left Goten at the bottom of the stairs.

"I got you—" he starts to say, and then freezes, and frowns. 

Someone else has taken the spot where Trunks had been sitting before. It's no one Trunks recognizes, but he looks like a grad student, if Trunks were to take a guess. He's definitely a few years older, with a scruffy beard and long hair pulled into a knot at the base of his neck. Based on the smell of weed, he must have come over from the group smoking over by the fence. 

As Trunks stands in the doorway, still frozen, he catches the tail end of a sentence: "... so my research is about virtue ethics, specifically, and the, like, implications it has for artificial intelligence." That would be enough to make Trunks roll his eyes even completely devoid of other context, but in this particular case, he barely even notices it, because he's too busy focusing instead on the way the guy is leaning into Goten's space, and the heavy-lidded look he's giving him, the way his eyes are slowly crawling from Goten's mouth down to the hollow of his throat.

"That sounds interesting," Goten says, and damn him, he actually sounds like he means it. He laughs a little and adds, " _Way_ above my pay grade, though, I don't even know what I'm going to major in yet," and the guy's eyes gleam.

"Well, we can always use new more recruits in the philosophy department," he says. "Plus, then, I'd get to see more of you."

"That'd be nice," Goten says, his voice dipping down into a lower octave, and that is officially the last straw for Trunks.

He lets the door slam behind him, and takes a vicious pleasure in the way it makes Goten and the stranger startle and jump apart. "I got drinks," he says shortly, and then makes his way down the steps, stubbornly squeezing himself into the newly-created gap between Goten and whoever the fuck this guy is. When the guy doesn't move, though, Trunks turns to glare at him. "Sorry, do you mind?"

"Uh," the guy says, his mouth hanging open. He clearly has absolutely no idea what's going on, but after a long, awkward second, he swallows, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing, and glances quickly between Trunks and Goten, before finally settling on Goten and saying, "I'll, uh. I'll see you around?"

He practically sprints back over to the group smoking by the fence; there's a little bubble of laughter, so clearly at least some of his friends saw what happened, but Trunks finds that he really doesn't give a shit. He's too busy focusing on holding down the bubble of rage that's threatening to erupt out of his throat; he feels one of the bottles he's carrying crack in his fist, and only the sting of the glass cutting into his palm is enough to pull him back into himself, at least a little bit. He takes several deep, steadying breaths, and then sets the cracked bottle down next to him on the step and holds another one out to Goten wordlessly. When he looks up, though, expecting Goten to be confused, maybe, or irritated, what he gets instead makes his blood freeze in his veins.

Goten's face is a perfect mirror of the fury that's still boiling itself out in the pit of Trunks' stomach, and that expression on _Goten,_ of all people, is... disconcerting, to say the least. Trunks has seen him angry before, sure, but even that is pretty uncommon for Goten compared to literally every other Saiyan in existence, and this is beyond that. For just a moment, Trunks actually feels _afraid_ , and that, more than anything, makes him start to realize the exact depth of how badly he may have just fucked up.

But then the moment passes, and Goten's face smooths out a little, rage passed over for annoyance, and frustration, and confusion. Goten doesn't take the drink that's still hovering between them in Trunks' outstretched hand, and he doesn't even acknowledge it; instead, he just stares, his brow furrowing and his mouth twisting into a moue of irritation.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. It's pretty fucking clear what his opinion on the whole situation is, and whether or not he approves of the stunt Trunks just pulled. Trunks feels a scowl slowly growing on his own face; what, does Goten think that if he just sits there and looks pissed off for long enough, Trunks is going to apologize? Yelling at him would have been one thing, but this is just ridiculous. They're not little kids anymore; giving him the silent treatment is beyond the pale.

"Stop looking at me like that," he grits out, finally lowering his arm. "What's your problem?"

"What's _my_ problem?" Goten snaps, the words seemingly exploding out of him now that Trunks has made the first move and broken the silence shivering between them. "What the hell was that? Remind me to never ask you to be my wingman."

Trunks feels his scowl deepen. “That guy was being a creep, Goten, seriously.” He casts a glare over toward the fence, where the man in question is still sulking with his tail between his legs. He and a few of his friends are looking back in Trunks' direction with expressions ranging from anger to amusement, but none of them matter, and Trunks looks away dismissively after a few seconds. 

“He wasn't being a creep, he was just _flirting_ with me! It was harmless!" Goten spits back, crossing his arms. "I don’t know what your problem is! Seriously, what the hell?”

“You obviously couldn’t see the way he was looking at you — it was _creepy_ , okay?” Trunks grits his teeth at the memory, the way the guys eyes had lingered on Goten's mouth still fresh in his mind. “And I don’t know why you’d be interested in a guy like that anyway.”

“A guy like _what?”_

“A — you know, a douchey hipster type!" Trunks gestures wildly towards the group gathered by the fence as though that alone should illustrate his point. "Seriously, who tries to hit on someone by talking about _philosophy?_ You can do way better.”

“So what?" Goten snaps. "Maybe I liked it. Maybe I don’t want to _do better_. Maybe I was just thinking I could have a good time with him. And honestly, Trunks? It’s not any of your business _anyway_. I don’t know why you’ve been so freaking weird lately, but you can just forget it. I’m going home.”

He stands up abruptly, clearly completely serious, and the anger in Trunks' gut is once again cut through by pangs of guilt and fear and realization. Trunks swallows hard, his mouth going dry. Goten isn't even looking at him anymore; he's just checking to make sure he's got his phone and keys, and picking up his empty beer bottle. His dismissal of Trunks is complete and vividly, vividly clear. “...Goten, wait—”

As Goten turns to walk away, Trunks stands to go after him on instinct, reaching out without thinking to try and grab his arm. But Goten bats his hand away with just enough real power behind it to make Trunks flinch, and turns to look back at him for just a second. 

“No, don’t follow me," he says, and the anger in his voice is so cold that it makes Trunks' whole body seize up. There's still confusion there, too, and — _hurt_ , Trunks realizes, which is so, so much worse than the anger. But all the same, Goten is well and truly pissed at him, and he realizes now that trying to follow him is definitely not going to end well. "You should stick around a little longer. Maybe you’ll even meet someone that’s up to your standards.”

“Goten—” Trunks tries again, one last time, desperate. 

“I’m going home, Trunks," Goten says firmly. "And you shouldn’t come with me.”

There's really nothing else he can say to that. He watches as Goten opens the door and begins to shoulder his way through the crowd, and then flinches when the door slams shut behind him, leaving Trunks completely alone, with just the little gaggle of stoners for company. He stares at where Goten has disappeared and realizes that the thing making sweat bead cold and clammy along his brow now is _fear_. Not any kind of fear he's really ever felt before, not fear that someone stronger than him is going to hurt him or hurt the people he cares about, but fear of his own actions. Trunks stares blankly at the door and feels absolute terror that he may have just done permanent damage to the single most important relationship in his life.

And yet at the very same time, there’s still an ember of pure fury burning deep in his gut — it’s more than a little repulsive to him, but it’s _there_ , absolutely undeniable. After all, Goten’s parting words have hit the nail on the head. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Goten’s always going home with someone or bringing someone home, and that person is never Trunks. He’s Trunks’ oldest friend — only real friend — and they’re two halves of the same whole, but there’s this aching gap between them, this disconnect between what they’ve always been and what’s been keeping Trunks up at night, what he's come to want more than he can possibly express.

It makes him feel sick to his stomach, but he doesn’t know how to get rid of it, so he has to — he has to deal with it. He has to deal with it better than _this,_ he thinks, still staring after where Goten had slammed the door shut between them, because if he doesn’t get a handle on it, and soon, he’s terrified that he’s going to drive Goten even further away than he already has. If he didn't just fuck everything up beyond repair, then he's definitely going to soon, unless he gets this under control. Much more of this, and there won't be any coming back from it, and he'll have lost the other half of himself, for good.

—

The party doesn't hold a lot of interest for him after that.

Trunks doesn't precisely remember leaving, and he doesn't remember exactly when or where he took to the skies, either. He flies in a haze, leaving West City far behind and soaring through the blackness far away from the city lights. He stops when he reaches the ocean, slamming suddenly to a halt in midair as if he'd hit a wall; he watches the moon reflect down on the water for a few long minutes, trying to clear his head and then scowling when he fails completely.

He turns at that point and heads back toward the city, but without really meaning to he finds his trajectory curving toward Capsule Corp. He has absolutely no intention of going inside or talking to anyone, but he has to admit that he relaxes a little when the familiar buildings come into view, and he pauses just far enough away to hopefully not draw anyone's attention and stretches out his senses. His eyes fall closed, and he searches out the three energy signatures he knows will be there: his dad, burning the most vividly, and then Bulla, and then his mom. Then he stretches his senses out even farther and finds his grandparents, and then beyond that a few people working late in the office, and then beyond them, he slowly reaches out and feels other people in the surrounding city, little knots of ki indicating families in their homes, and the brighter flares of large groups at bars and restaurants, and the steady thrum of drivers on the roads, and individual little pinpricks on the streets and sidewalks. 

He stops himself before he expands out toward the West U campus, and the surrounding student housing; he doesn't want to know if Goten really did go home, and he _definitely_ doesn't want to know if he's there alone or not. Trunks opens his eyes at that and tips his head skyward, staring up at the moon and the stars without really looking at them. He's sure, by now, that his dad has to have noticed that he's nearby, but he doesn't seem interested in coming out to say hello. He actually smiles a little at the thought; Vegeta's not really known for his love of emotional conversations, and if he's noticed Trunks' ki, then he'll absolutely be able to tell how... unsettled Trunks is right now. If he had to guess, he'd say his dad is probably putting a lot of effort right now into _not_ noticing him.

The fact that he fucked up isn't debatable. Whether or not he fucked up _irreversibly_... well, he doubts it, though the fear that he might have won't quite leave him, and he knows that it won't until the next time they see each other. It's not like Goten tried to fight him or anything, at least — though honestly, part of Trunks would feel better about it if he had. At least that would have felt like resolving the situation somehow. 

Eventually, the sun starts to rise, and he kicks off from where he'd settled on a rooftop overlooking Capsule Corp, heading back out over the city. People are starting to wake up, which only reminds Trunks that he hasn't slept, but he doesn't want to go back to the apartment, yet, and he certainly doesn't want to actually go inside Capsule Corp like this — or, for that matter, without talking to Goten. But he's not ready to do that, and if that makes him a coward, well. Maybe he is, but he's a coward who's self-aware enough to know he hasn't magically gotten rid of his feelings, his desire or his jealousy or his frustration, by moping about them all night.

There aren't a ton of options for _other_ places to go, though, especially now that school's out until the new year. Trunks would _love_ to vent some of what he's feeling by kicking the crap out of someone, or having the crap kicked out of him, but it's not like there are all that many normal people out there who would put up any kind of a fight, and most of them are his parents' friends, and... he isn't quite willing to put up with good-natured concern at the moment. So he settles for leaving the city again, flying away from the coast this time, until he finds a nice, deserted patch of desert with some rocks he can destroy, 

He almost laughs at himself. Sometimes he realizes that he really is his father's son.

By the time the sun starts to sink low in the sky again, he's starving, exhausted, and definitely in need of a shower. He's never quite had the knack for fending for himself out in the wilderness that Goten does, so all he's really had to eat since he left the apartment almost 24 hours ago is some fruit that he'd been only mostly sure wasn't poisonous. There's nothing for it, at this point: he can't exactly walk into a restaurant in the shape he's in, so if he wants to eat, he's going to have to go home, and he's finally feeling like he wants to, anyway. Goten might not even be there at this point — he my have already headed back to Mount Paozu for break — and if he is still around... Trunks is going to have to face him again sometime. He _wants_ to, even. And surely seeing him in the familiar, comfortable setting of their apartment will make it easier to deal with... everything. He'll be able to apologize, and then he'll have all of break to get his head on straight, and by the time they come back for spring semester, he'll have figured his shit out. He'll have to. There's not another option.

In the end, though, the apartment is dark and empty when he gets back, with no hint of Goten's ki anywhere nearby, and Trunks can't pretend he's not relieved. He shovels some food into his mouth before dragging himself into the shower, and by the time he gets out, he almost feels alive again. 

He pads silently out into the living room, the apartment dark and quiet around him. There's a window on the back wall, opposite the front door, and Trunks makes his way over to it silently, looking up and out at the sunset sinking down over the city. Already the sun has gone behind the buildings on the skyline, leaving only an orange glow at the horizon, clouded by smog, as the stars start to shine farther above. 

It would probably be obvious who the bright flare of ki coming towards him was even if it _wasn't_ as familiar to him as his own. Either way, Trunks stiffens as soon as he feels it, and then forces himself to relax, actively releasing the tension in his shoulders and forcing himself to breathe slowly, evenly. It's hard to get a read on exactly what Goten is feeling — if he's feeling anything like Trunks is at the moment, _he_ probably doesn't even know the full extent of what it is his emotions are doing — but he doesn't feel angry anymore. Not angry like he had been last night, anyway.

Trunks doesn't react when the front door quietly swings open behind him, or when Goten pads toward him until they're only a few feet apart. He clenches his fists, briefly, when Goten takes a deep breath in, audibly hesitating, and he grits his teeth when Goten sighs softly, but he doesn't say anything, and he doesn't turn around.

"I'm sorry," Goten says from behind him, quietly. Trunks shuts his eyes and doesn't turn around.

"What the hell do you have to be sorry for?" he replies. His voice comes out rougher than he'd like, but there's nothing for it at this point, he supposes. It's probably abundantly obvious to Goten that he didn't exactly get any sleep at any point in the past day, but there's really nothing for that, either. "You were right, with what you said yesterday. I'm the one who's got a problem. You don't need to be apologizing for anything."

"I mean, I was kind of shitty to you, too." As he speaks, Goten takes a couple of cautious steps toward him. Trunks doesn't need to hear his footsteps or track the volume of his voice to realize he's getting closer, or even really pay attention to his ki; he can feel Goten on a much, much deeper level than that. "I let myself bottle stuff up and simmer and get pissed, when I should have just talked to you. And I was ruder than I needed to be. So I'm sorry."

"You were exactly as rude as you needed to be," Trunks mutters. "I've — I really messed up, okay? And I know it. So please don't fucking apologize. I feel enough like shit as it is."

"What has been _up_ with you lately?" Goten asks, coming even closer — within arm's reach, now. "I really don't get it. I mean, I even kinda thought — I thought it was because I came out to you? It's not, is it?"

That's what finally gets Trunks to turn around and face him. "What?" he says, shocked right out of his increasingly frustrated, disorganized headspace at the very idea. He looks at Goten with wide, wild eyes, his eyebrows creeping up toward his hairline; Goten, for his part, looks almost equally taken aback at the vehemence of his reaction. "How the hell does that make any sense? I came out to _you_ first! Years ago!"

"I don't know!" Goten says defensively. "It was just — the only thing that made sense, I thought! Because I told you about it, and then that's when you started getting weird, so I thought, you know — I thought it was because of that, somehow. Cause and effect."

"Cause and—" Trunks sighs explosively, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He's never felt a lack of sleep more than he does at this exact moment. "Shit. Look. No. That's definitely not — I'm sorry I — I'm sorry I acted in a way that made it even slightly possible for you to think that. I'm so sorry, Goten. I swear that's not it."

Goten nods, his face softening for a moment. "I figured that out eventually," he says, scratching the back of his head. "But thanks for, uh, apologizing. It was — it really sucked, thinking that that was maybe what the problem was."

"I bet," Trunks replies, softer than he means to. He remembers, acutely, being scared of coming out to Goten — irrationally terrified, given that it was _Goten_ , who, even if they hadn't known each other inside and out and backwards, has always been so genuinely sweet that it sometimes hurts to be around him. Even knowing that, knowing him, Trunks had been so afraid to share that part of himself for the first time. And, unlike Goten, Trunks is well aware that _he_ is kind of an asshole, so if he'd been afraid to come out to Goten, he can't imagine what Goten must have felt about coming out to him.

There's a beat of silence after that, in which Trunks almost starts to think that maybe they've resolved something, at least for now. But then he watches, heart sinking, as Goten's brow furrows all over again, his mouth turning down at the corners.

"But then — if it wasn't that, then what the hell _was_ it? Is it?" Goten asks, crossing his arms. "Because it would be so freakin' obvious that _something_ is up, even if you hadn't already told me so. I just — I don't want stuff to be this weird between us anymore. Or ever again. Or at all. And I can't help if you don't _tell_ me."

For just a second, Trunks squeezes his eyes shut tight. "You definitely can't help anyway," he starts. "And just — trust me, Goten, it's only going to get more awkward if I tell you. Okay? So just — I'm sorry, but just give me some more time, okay? I'm working through it, I swear. I'm gonna get there. I just... It's just gonna take me a little while. But I promise you, I'm not gonna let it be weird anymore. I'm not gonna be a jackass about it anymore."

"You're being weird right _now_ ," Goten tells him, leaning in closer and squinting at him, as though he thinks he can puzzle something out by sight alone. Trunks instinctively leans back, trying to keep enough personal space to avoid completely embarrassing himself, but that only makes Goten lean forward even further, until he's actively backing Trunks up against the wall. "No offense, but for basically the smartest guy I know, you're being really stupid. It's _me_ , Trunks. Of course you can tell me. And if you tell me I'll _help_ you. Whatever it is, you don't have to figure it out alone. _That's_ what's making you crazy," he adds, with a confidence that is perhaps slightly unearned.

"Goten, I'm serious," Trunks warns. There is nowhere else for him to back up to, and he feels a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. Over _Goten._ He's currently being scared shitless by _Son Goten,_ for likethe third time in two days. And, like, not during a fight, where that would be pretty reasonable — during just a fucking conversation about their feelings. God help him.

"I'm serious too," Goten retorts. "If it's not a bi thing, then what is it? Did I accidentally put a red sock in with your white clothes in the laundry? Is this because of that time you caught me drinking straight out of the milk carton? Did your dad regress like twenty years and order you to stop hanging out with me because I'm a Son? Did—"

"I was jealous, okay?" Trunks finally explodes. Goten freezes in place, clearly shocked both at what he's said and how ferociously he's said it. He can feel himself panting and hear the harsh cadence of his breath, but he can't really stop it — nor can he stop the way he bows forward just a little, curling both toward Goten and away from him, completely trapped between his body and the wall. "Am. Am jealous. I'm — so fucking jealous, okay, Goten, of all these guys, and the girls, and the — every time you bring one of them here, it's bad enough, but then I saw you, with that _douchebag_ , and he was all _over_ you, and I—"

He snaps his mouth shut, ice-cold horror washing down his spine, but it's far, far too late for that; the damage has already been done, and thoroughly. Goten has reeled back a little and is staring at him with an expression of such open shock that Trunks would wince at it, if he weren't already so busy being completely panicked by everything else about this situation.

"You mean — jealous of me, right," Goten says after a moment of complete and terrible silence, his voice unbearably small. "Because I had so many hookups and stuff? Jealous of — that?"

Trunks shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall. He's already completely fucked it up, right? There's not any coming back from this at this point _anyway._ What's that saying... in for a penny, in for a pound?

"No, Goten," he says, and he's honestly shocked at how steady his own voice sounds. A bit like he's walking to his death or something rather than having an admittedly terrifying, uncomfortable conversation with his oldest, closest friend, but still. "I don't mean like that."

He's met with utter silence, and even more than that, utter stillness. Without opening his eyes, he can't even be sure that Goten's still breathing. Somewhere distant, he can hear the whir of the air conditioning, and even farther away, there's the faint pulse of someone throwing what is probably yet another terrible house party celebrating the end of the semester and the coming winter holidays, but within the familiar boundary of their own apartment, there is absolutely nothing. If Trunks just keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend he _hasn't_ fucked up his and Goten's relationship, probably irreparably. If he just keeps his eyes shut, he can pretend that he _didn't_ fail so spectacularly at keeping his useless, unnecessary, stupid crush to himself that it resulted in the first real fight they've had in years, which in turn resulted in... whatever the hell this conversation has been. If he just keeps his eyes shut, then—

If he just keeps his eyes shut, then he won't actually see the moment when Goten's eyes go from wide and shocked to suspiciously shiny and warm. If he just keeps his eyes shut, then he won't realize that Goten is leaning forward, crowding even farther into his space, until it's too late, and if he can only keep his eyes shut, then he definitely won't see it coming when Goten presses an almost furious kiss to his lips, forcing all the breath out of his lungs in one go.

His eyes fly open immediately afterward, but he's too busy trying to understand what the hell is happening to really process visual stimuli at the moment. By the time he gets his shit together enough to lean into the kiss, even, it's been an almost awkwardly long amount of time, and by the time he truly grasps the ferocity with which Goten is gripping him, the firm, insistent press of his lips and the nearly bruising hold he's taken on Trunks' jaw, he feels like it may have been years.

"What the _fuck_ ," he rasps, when Goten eventually — and evidently pretty reluctantly — pulls away for air. "Holy _shit,_ Goten, what the — what the _fuck!"_

"What are you asking _me_ for?" Goten shoots back. There are, definitely, tear tracks on his cheeks, and he lets go of Trunks long enough to scrub ferociously at the corners of his eyes. "You couldn't have told me that like a _year_ ago, you asshole?"

"A _year ago?"_ Trunks says. By the end of the sentence, his voice has reached a pitch which he thinks is probably only audible to dogs.

"Yes, a year ago!" Goten actually throws his hands up at this point, looking a little bit more like his mother than Trunks would ever admit to his face. "Oh my god, Trunks, I was not subtle! I mean, granted, I wasn't even really _really_ sure then that I was into dudes, but, like, that was at least part of why I started to be pretty sure I was, and in hindsight—" He shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words for a moment. "You seriously didn't think it was weird when you came back for your first break and I was _all over you?"_

"You're always all over me! You've been all over me since you were like _two!"_ Trunks argues. It doesn't occur to him, even as the words are coming out of his mouth, that that actually maybe makes their entire relationship seem a little _more_ gay, not less. "And we hadn't seen each other in, like, a month! I was all over you, too, and you didn't think it was weird!"

"Yeah, but that's different!"

" _How is it different?"_

"I don't know! Why are we arguing about this?"

"I don't know!"

"Okay!" Goten takes a deep breath, his chest heaving. "Then let's — let's — let's not!"

"Okay!" Trunks agrees, his own heart pounding so loudly it feels like it's seconds from leaping right out of his chest. Then, after a heavy pause where they both just sort of breathe raggedly and stare into each other's eyes, he says it again, a little softer and a lot more intentionally: "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry. I just — if you're kidding around, or something, you better tell me right now, Goten. Because I — it's been — so much longer than a year, for me."

Goten blinks at him. His cheeks had already been red, but they darken even further, and his eyes go wide. "How long?"

"I don't know," Trunks says, which is only sort of a lie. He has a decent idea, but it feels too long ago to quite admit to right now — and the kicker is, in his gut. he feels like it might have been even longer. "But... a long, long time, Goten. You were part of what made _me_ realize _I_ was into guys, too."

"So I was your gay awakening," Goten says slowly, "and you were my bisexual awakening."

Trunks nods, just as slowly. "I guess so, yeah."

"And the reason you've been so weird for the past couple of months is that you were so jealous of the people I was sleeping with that it was driving you crazy."

"You don't have to put it that way," Trunks grumbles.

"And," Goten continues, as though he hadn't said anything, "you were planning on just ignoring the way you felt about me, because you were acting like some kind of dumbass who didn't know how much I care about you, so you thought there was no way I could want you back."

Trunks narrows his eyes at that one. "Okay, jackass, you don't have to rub it in—"

"And you're _still_ more focused on talking than you are on the fact that we could be making out like _crazy_ right now," Goten interrupts, and, well. Never let it be said that Trunks can't cede an argument when his opponent has such a very intelligent and well-phrased point.

—

"So," Goten says, several hours later, when they've both settled a little and made their way back around to being able to think straight. They're curled up together in the living room, lodged snugly against one arm of the couch; Goten is thoroughly draped over Trunks' front, one of his hands balled in a loose fist just over Trunks' heart. "Can I ask you something?"

"Don't be stupid, of course you can," Trunks replies, because saying _Anything, always,_ while true, is maybe a little sappy for him, even in this moment.

Goten thumps him in the chest, but it's halfhearted at best. "Don't be a jerk." He pauses for just a split second before he adds, his voice going ever so slightly softer, "Why didn't you ever say anything before?"

Maybe he shouldn't be, but Trunks finds himself absolutely shocked that he'd even ask that. "Are you nuts? Why do you _think?"_

"I don't _know,_ Trunks!" Goten huffs. "That's why I'm _asking!"_

Trunks shifts to sit up a little, feeling a little crease in his forehead. He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing immediately comes out, so he closes it again, trying to process how to even answer what seems, to him, to be such an obvious and unnecessary question. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that, to Goten, it might not be. Sure, he'd apparently been carrying a torch for Trunks for a while, but on the other hand, he'd pretty much immediately come out to him as soon as he'd figured out for sure that he was bi, and... well, he's just generally a little more open. Trunks tries to picture Goten keeping _anything_ a secret from him for as long as he'd concealed his own feelings from Goten and draws a blank.

So maybe it's a fair question, for Goten, though Trunks does think that fact that he apparently can't even imagine Trunks' reasoning is a little ridiculous.

"Look," he says after a long moment, meeting Goten's eyes for a second before looking away. "It's not that I thought you'd be a jerk about it, or something, but... for starters, for a _long_ time, I thought you were straight. And I wasn't gonna... I don't know, get my feelings all over you if I thought there was literally no way you could possibly feel the same way about me. By the time you told me you were into dudes, it had been so long with me thinking that way that there was no way it was gonna change."

He hesitates, looking back at Goten somewhat against his own will, completely and totally drawn in by him, just the way he kind of always has been. They haven't turned any of the lights on, so Goten's only illuminated by the city lights filtering in through the window and the little bit of moonlight that isn't choked out by clouds, the dark sky blanketing them in and sealing them off from the world. He's beautiful, and it feels absolutely incredible to be able to think that freely, without the usual immediate kickback of guilt and regret and frustration that's accompanied the idea for so long.

"Besides," Trunks mutters. "Even if — you know. Even if I'd known you were bi the whole time or something, I don't think it would have mattered. I wouldn't have wanted to risk losing you."

Goten frowns at that, and shoves himself just far enough away to hold Trunks at arm's length and stare him squarely in the face. "That's dumb," he says, very seriously.

The combination of his stony expression and the string of hickeys Trunks left up the side of his neck earlier is, frankly, incredible. It's impossible not to snort a laugh, which, of course, only makes Goten frown harder.

"I mean it!" he insists, pouting a little now, as he shoves at Trunks' shoulder. "That's _dumb,_ Trunks, you're supposed to be the smart one. It's _me_. You can't lose me. Ever. Not even if you wanted to."

"Your face," Trunks snickers, but when Goten shoves him again, he manages to sober up a little. "Okay, okay! Jeeze. I get it."

"You'd better," Goten mutters, eyes narrowing. "Like I said. You're supposed to be the smart one."

"I _am_ the smart one, which is why I didn't want to risk it. I didn't want to risk you for anything."

Goten considers this for a minute. "Okay, well, if we ignore the part where you can't lose me, ever, then I guess you're not _just_ supposed to be the smart one. You're supposed to be a hothead, too. Why didn't you just follow your Saiyan instincts or whatever and _go_ for it?"

"Please don't talk about Saiyan instincts, it makes you sound like my dad," Trunks retorts, wrinkling his nose, and that's what apparently breaks Goten’s train of thought, or whatever spell he's been under: he immediately stops looking so serious and put out in favor of laughing so hard he snorts, burying his nose in the crook of Trunks' neck so that his laughter vibrates warmly through both of their chests. Trunks doesn't bother trying to conceal how smug that happy laughter makes him feel at all. 

"Fine, fine," he says, once he's recovered a little. "I guess all that really matters is we got here eventually. And you're not going to be able to get rid of me now, _that's_ for sure."

"Like I'd want to," Trunks scoffs, but even to his own ears it sounds disgustingly fond, not at all as aloof and cool as he might have hoped. Damn. He's really going to have to work on that, or Goten's going to absolutely destroy whatever cool-guy persona he's managed to cultivate for good.

Goten hums happily in his ear. "I sure hope you wouldn't."

"I think you'd know by now if I did, man. And if I did, we wouldn't be cuddling right now."

"Well, good." 

There's a quiet moment where neither of them seems inclined to do anything more than just breathe together. Goten nuzzles briefly at Trunks' throat, but other than that, they're both completely still and silent, just savoring the feeling of being curled up together like this. Trunks finds himself so embarrassingly, effervescently happy that he thinks if he _did_ try to speak, he might cry or sing or laugh instead. With time, though, even that achingly bright feeling mellows, settling instead into something softer, more familiar and strange than he possibly could have guessed before this moment. 

"Hey, Trunks?" Goten murmurs, his lips brushing against Trunks' bare skin with every syllable. 

It's a mark of how warm and sleepy and content he feels, Trunks realizes, that that sensation doesn't make him want to do anything more than squeeze Goten even more securely against his chest. "Yeah, Goten?"

"Take me to bed," Goten says.

Goten can't see it, but Trunks doesn't doubt at all that he can feel the wide, ridiculous smile that splits his face at that. 

"Okay, Goten," he says, and trusts that what Goten hears is, _Every day, I promise,_ and _You're not getting rid of me now,_ and, critically, _Just you and me._ They'll probably eventually want to figure out whose bedroom they're going to move into, but on the bright side, that seems like one of the easier roommate issues to navigate, and no one's going to have to worry about hanging a sock on the door ever again."Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian) and [Tumblr](http://floralegia.tumblr.com)!


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